Conversations and Conspiracies
by kate221b
Summary: A series of missing scenes from His Last Vow. These are intended to dovetail with Fratros, Eros and Agape, but can also be read in isolation.
1. Mary

This is the first in a series of 'side conversations' that will hopefully dovetail with Fratros, Eros and Agape. I'm sticking rigorously to telling that story from John's POV, so this is a way of filling in some of the other details to flesh out the story a little.

This story fits into the timeframe alongside Chapter 11 of Fratros, when John is visiting Mrs Hudson in 221B.

Because you didn't really think that Mary was just providing a shoulder for a friend to cry on did you?

As ever, thank you all so much for reading, and please do let me know what you think.

* * *

She knew.

Before she saw the tips of his polished, hand-crafted shoes through the open door.

Before she saw his overcoat and umbrella on the thoughtfully provided hat stand.

Before she saw his perfectly tailored suit. She knew that it was Mycroft Holmes waiting for her behind that door.

'I'm surprised that it took you so long,' she said, as she walked in and took the indicated seat opposite him. 'Nice place, by the way. What is it?'

'A place for people to do business when they would rather not be disturbed - or overheard. And what makes you think that I didn't know?'

He had a heavy document file in front of him which he picked up and dropped on the desk in front of her with a thud. She didn't need to open it to know what it contained.

'And let you still let me go back to talk to Sherlock?'

'That was a calculated risk.'

'To what advantage?'

'Should your husband discover your true identity, then your position will become untenable. And that would not be to anyone's benefit.'

'Meaning?'

'Meaning that you seem to have finally got Charles Augustus Magnussen's attention, Mrs Watson, or should I call you Miss Adair? Why waste that advantage?'

'And your brother's safety?' she asked, ignoring the reference to her real identity, and refusing to give him the satisfaction of lifting the cover of the file in front of her.

'If you had wished to kill my brother, Miss Adair, then you would have done so three nights ago. More to the point, my brother's silence on the subject seems to indicate that he is of the same opinion.'

'So why am I here?'

'I wish to make you a job offer. But first, I would like to hear to know why you chose to shoot Sherlock.'

'You already know why.'

'In order to prove to Charles Augustus Magnussen that you were not a woman to be trifled with.'

'Well deduced, Mycroft.'

'And yet something prevented you from proving that conclusively. Sentiment? Surely not. Ah, of course. John Watson. John Watson prevented you.'

'Losing Sherlock once nearly destroyed him. I wouldn't do that to him. Not again,' Mary admitted, reluctantly.

'So instead you gave him the opportunity to save his friend in a way that had been denied him two years ago. Trusting that he had the pre-hospital skills to keep Sherlock alive until they could get him to surgery. It was a bet that you nearly lost.'

'But I didn't.'

'Fortunately not. Had you done so, then I hardly need tell you that you would not be sitting here now.'

'What are you offering Mycroft?'

'Why would I be offering anything?'

'Because if you didn't want to make a deal, then you would have had me arrested by now. The contents of that file alone, are enough to put me away for a very, very long time.'

'They are enough to do more than that in several American states, as you are well aware.'

'So - what are you suggesting?'

'Firstly, an assurance of my brother's safety.'

'I have no quarrel with Sherlock, Mycroft, as you well know.'

'So I have your word?'

'Of course.'

'Even should he threaten to tell John?'

Mary hesitated for only a split second. 'He wouldn't tell John.'

'But if he did?'

'Then the reasons for keeping him alive would remain. I wouldn't do that to John.'

'Good. And now to the other matter. It will not have escaped your notice that I am not the only person in possession of a copy of this file.'

'Did you get it from him?' Mary struggled to keep her voice calm and level, years of training fighting against a sense of rising panic.

'And let him know that I was aware who you were? No. I have my own sources of information. Once we had cracked the code as it were, realised that you were not who you said that you were, then photo-recognition software did the rest. We have our own methods of research.'

Mary nodded and looked at the floor, composed herself, then looked back at Mycroft. 'So what is it that you want, Mycroft?'

'As I said, I wish to make you a job offer.'

'Go on.'

'I want you to keep my brother away from Charles Augustus Magnussen.'

Mary laughed out loud. 'You really think that I can do that?'

'No, but I think that John Watson can.'

'But John doesn't know, can't know, that I'm involved.'

'Precisely. And that is your line to Sherlock. That if he persists in her pursuit of Magnussen, then Magnussen will use his pressure point - you, to get to John. If John loses you, then he loses his child also. Even my brother, single minded and obstreperous as he is, would not do that to John Watson.'

'Sentiment?' Mary asked. 'You're asking me to appeal to Sherlock's sense of sentiment?'

'I'm asking you to remind him of a promise that he made on your wedding day. To protect you and John above all else.'

'And why would he do that?'

'Because he loves John Watson, Miss Adair, as you are well aware.'

'I wish you wouldn't call me that,' she muttered.

'What would you prefer?'

'Mary. Mary will do just fine. Is that why you didn't come to the wedding? Because you knew?'

'No, I didn't come to the wedding because I dislike weddings.'

'How long have you known - only that file of information hasn't been compiled since your brother said my name this morning.'

'Since the bonfire.'

'The bonfire? How did you - oh, of course, it would have been in the report with the terrorism attack. But I didn't do anything to rescue John, Sherlock did it all.'

'Yes, but the texts were sent to you.'

'To pass onto Sherlock.'

'Incorrect. They were went to you in the knowledge that you would follow the clues and save John. Magnussen was proving that John is your pressure point, and so he remains.'

'And if I do this for you? If I keep Sherlock away from Magnussen, what then?'

'Then your past identity remains a secret.'

'Until you decide to call in the favour?'

'I may have a job offer for you in the future, certainly. A little bit of freelancing, if you will.'

'I'm retired, Mycroft.'

'In this game, you never retire, my dear, ' Mycroft said, standing up and reclaiming his coat and umbrella, 'as you proved the other night. Now just keep my brother away from Magnussen, will you? There's a good girl.'

'Mycroft, wait.' Mary said firmly, as he reached the door. He turned, hand still on the door handle. 'You know what kind of man Magnussen is. Why keep him safe?'

'Oh I never said that I was going to keep him safe,' he replied, and then the door clicked shut behind him and he was gone.


	2. Billy

'So he made contact?'

'Course, just like you said. Came to find me this morning.'

'And did he try to pay you off?'

'Yeah. Didn't take it though.'

'Why ever not?'

Billy shrugged, 'Didn't feel right did it, grassing up a mate.'

Sherlock sighed. 'While your loyalty is admirable - if misplaced, Billy, you're missing the point. I wanted you to talk to him, in fact I asked you to.' Sherlock winced as he tried to readjust himself in the bed. Turning down the morphine certainly made thinking a lot easier, but he was starting to realise that getting out of this bed was going to be a lot more difficult than he had initially contemplated.

'You should have taken the money, John can well afford it,' he continued. 'Although I have to confess, I am disappointed in his lack of ethics. Marriage has obviously eroded his principles somewhat. Nice outfit, by the way.'

'Feel as if I'm wearing bloody pyjamas. Why do people want to wear pyjamas during the day?' Bill Wiggins was attired in a set of theatre greens, purloined from the laundry trolley in the basement of the hospital, at Sherlock's instructions. He made an alarmingly convincing hospital cleaner in that uniform, as long as you didn't look too closely at his shoes. Sherlock hadn't fancied his chances of Billy being allowed onto the private ward in his usual clothing. His cleaning trolley, also acquired from the basement, was waiting in the corridor outside.

'Cheap and easy to launder at sixty degree, thus killing the majority of bacteria,' Sherlock said automatically. 'I presume he asked about the drugs?'

'Of course he did. It was all he was bloody interested in. Hasn't called the cops to grass us up yet though. Why is that?'

'And cut off his main source of information on me? I taught him better than that. So what did you tell him?'

'Kept it simple, didn't I, just like we agreed. Didn't give too much away, didn't want to make him suspicious. He's worried all right, though.'

'Good,' Sherlock said. 'Excellent in fact. You're proving extremely useful, Billy. Now what else have you got to tell me?'

'He didn't sleep much last night, judging by the bags under his eyes. He came by tube, not by car - had his Oyster card in his hand when he walked through the door, meaning that he was intending to go on somewhere else directly afterwards. Not to work, he wasn't smartly enough dressed for that.'

'What time did he leave you?' Sherlock asked.

'9.43 - by the wall clock in the caff. But that's 4 minutes slow, so 9.47.'

'And yet he still hasn't come to see me to express his displeasure and concern, probably in that order. Interesting. So where has he gone in the interim?'

'Barts,' Bill replied promptly. 'He went to your flat at Baker Street first, but now he's at Bart's.'

Sherlock turned to look at him sharply, wincing at the pain caused by the sudden movement. 'How do you know?'

'Followed him, didn't I? He went to see that bird in the lab - the pretty one.'

'Molly Hooper?'

'Yeah her. Didn't hear what they said though, couldn't hang about too much, couldn't risk being seen.'

'Never mind,' Sherlock said. 'The important thing is that we've achieved our aim of distracting John while we put out plans in place.'

'Not being funny,' Bill said, 'but this plan of yours...'

'What about it?'

'Well it sort of requires you to get out of that bed and climb out of the window, don't it? Only I don't see you being in any fit state to do that in the near future.'

'Ketamine,' Sherlock said, squeezing the bridge of his nose.'

'What?'

'Ketamine, Billy, I need you to get me some ketamine. Can you do that?'

'Course. you reckon that will help?'

Sherlock frowned at him, wrinkling his nose as if he'd somehow disappointed him. 'Think Billy, I thought that was one thing that you'd proved that you were good at. Ketamine is a dissociative anaesthetic. It removes the brain from the pain to the extent that you can amputate a person's leg while they're still awake and talking to you. It would certainly enable a man to get out of his bed and climb out of a window four days after major thoracic surgery.'

Billy looked dubious. 'Fine,' Sherlock said with a sigh. 'Not climb exactly. What time are they cleaning the windows tomorrow?'


	3. Molly

'Hello Molly' he said without looking up, as she lurked uncertainly in the doorway to his room.

'How are you?' she asked, walking in and hesitating only slightly before reaching across to kiss him on the cheek.

'We're doing kissing now?' He sounded curious rather than offended.

'Well you did almost die. I think that justifies a kiss on the cheek doesn't it? Besides, I feel the need to compensate for all of those slaps.'

'Technically I did die.'

'Only for two minutes, that doesn't count.'

He looked at her and smiled. 'Why are you here, Molly?'

'I brought you these,' she said, placing a large bag of Malteasers on his bedside table. 'Since you're not going to be able to nick mine for a while.'

'I was just thinking of your waistline' he said, resting his head back on the pillows. He looked tired, Molly noticed. He looked as if he was in pain.

'You can turn that thing up, you know,' she said, waving a finger at his PCA.

'Bad for thinking,' he replied automatically.

'What do you have to think about?' she asked. 'You got shot, Sherlock, you nearly died. Isn't that enough? Isn't that reason enough to let this go?'

'Fortunately, I wasn't shot in the head, Molly. I can still work.'

'I brought you his, too,' she said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a Sherbert Fountain.

'They're not the same as they used to be,' he said conversationally. 'The paper cases added something to it, but then I suppose having a piece of liquorice sticking out the top uncovered was never going to be allowed for long. Too many people getting too worried about innocuous bacteria.'

'Stop avoiding the point.'

'Did you tell John exactly what was in the packets?'

'You know that I did.'

You couldn't have -'

'Lied for you? Again? No, Sherlock, I couldn't.'

'You did it before, Molly. You lied for me for two whole years. Why is this different?'

'Because that was to protect John. This isn't.'

'It is necessary.'

'Bollocks!' Molly snapped.

Sherlock looked mildly surprised at this outburst.

'You need to tell John what's going on.'

'Why?'

'So that he can help.'

'Nope,' Sherlock shook his head, then winced as the action pulled on the dressing anchoring the central line to his neck.

'Who shot you Sherlock?'

'I don't remember.'

'Yes you do. If you didn't you wouldn't be being so - evasive.'

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up. 'Swallowed a dictionary, Molly?'

'Oh stop it.'

'Stop what?'

'Stop avoiding the question. Who was it. Was it Magnussen?'

'No.'

'Oh,' Molly frowned and sat down hard on the chair.

'Oh what?' Sherlock snapped.

'You're trying to protect someone, aren't you? You know who shot you and you're protecting them. Why?'

'Molly...' Sherlock said warningly.

'Don't you Molly me, Sherlock Holmes. I'm right aren't I?'

'Why on earth would I want to protect the person who shot me?'

'Because they didn't shoot you in the head,' Molly said quietly.

'Leave it, Molly.' Sherlock said, and there was something in his voice, an edge of sadness, that made Molly acquiesce.

'You should have told me about the drugs,' she told him. 'Before you made me lie for you. You should have told me that it was a double bluff.'

'You think I'm a drug addict? Is that what you think? Do I look like a drug addict to you?'

'They come in all shapes and sizes,' she replied. 'Bankers, stockbrokers, teachers, politicians. Age, class or profession is no protection from addiction. You know that.'

'It was for the case.'

'That's not what I asked. You do admit that you've been using drugs?'

Sherlock sighed. 'That is irrelevant.'

'Bullshit, it's irrelevant. I looked at your drug chart, Sherlock. You're on huge doses of morphine. You've got a tolerance to it, you must have been using for weeks, probably months to get it up that high.'

'A tolerance is not the same as an addiction. It only becomes an addiction once it becomes out of control. It isn't.'

'If you think that, then you're an idiot.'

'I think that because it's true,'

'So if I offered you a hit now? A syringe full of diamorphine, pure as you can get it and the best available cocaine. Enough to take away the pain from your injury. Enough to make you forget everything for a few hours, enough to let you float away. You wouldn't want it?'

'No.'

'Your cardiac monitor says differently,' Molly said quietly. He turned to look at the monitor. His heart rate was up to 130. Far faster than it had been before, the quickening pulse of want, of desire.

'It's a physiological reaction,' Sherlock told her.

'It's a psychological craving, Sherlock,' she replied. 'You're in trouble and you know it.'

'Did you come here just to nag, Molly?'

'I came here to ask you to be careful. John's worried about you. I'm worried about you.'

'I'm touched by your concern,' he replied sarcastically,

'I know that you are,' she said seriously. 'Just - don't do anything stupid, okay? And just think about what I've said. Think about talking to John. He can help. Or I can. When you're ready. Okay, I'm going to go now, before you say something horrible. Just - get better soon, and talk to John.'

'Molly?' he said as she was halfway out the door.

'What?' she asked, just her head and shoulders back in the room.

'Thank you,' he said, and his eyes showed that he meant it.

'You haven't listened to a word that I said, have you.'

'I listened.'

'But you're going to ignore me anyway.'

He smiled at her. 'Bye, Molly. Thank you for coming,' he said. And she shook her head at him in mock despair as she walked away.

* * *

I've got no idea why I think that Sherlock would be a Malteasers man. I was going to try to fit in a rather horrible medics joke about never accepting a Malteaser from a little old lady (think about it), but it didn't fit into the dialogue. Bit of a shame really.

Sherbert Fountains - I suspect they're a perculiarly British thing. They're basically a tube of sherbert, with a liquorice stick to dip into it. As Sherlock says, they're not the same now they come in a plastic tube instead of a paper wrapper. Bet he loved those as a child too. I like to think that he ate the liquorice absent-mindedly after he'd put the sherbert into the Baggie for John to find.


End file.
